Page 12 of Deadly Sins

I pushed four quarters into the metal slot and grabbed a paper from the top. My muscles quivered, and I ground my teeth. I hated not being there for him, showing him support and unconditional love through every step of this mess. I had to make this work. I was his only hope.

My instructor, Roman, was waiting for me at a back table. I ordered myself an almond milk Mexican mocha and slid into the chair across from him. This gorgeous man was the polar opposite of Grant. Roman’s jet-black hair skimmed his eyebrows, highlighting his almost black eyes. His lips were full, his skin was pale, his body was lean. His accent was so alluring; every time he pronounced the word pleasure—”plea-shure”—my knees went weak.

In another life, another time, I could fall madly in love with the man sitting across from me sipping a single black espresso. But I was focused on Joaquín, and unfortunately for me, Grant had a permanent hold on my heart.

He slowly eye-fucked me. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, Roman. Traffic.”

“Call me, Roma.” His eyes focused on my swollen breasts. “Why it is that you want to learn Russian? You never told to me.”

Of course, I didn’t. I found you on Craigslist.

“It’s a sensual language. Always wanted to learn. I’m an actress. I would love to perform Chekhov in his native tongue.”

He smirked, clearly not buying my story. I now started to doubt my acting skills. “You will tell to me when you are ready. Davai. Kak vas zovut?”

Let’s go. What’s your name?

I took a sip of my mocha, the warm liquid coating my throat, helping me slip into my character. “Menya zovut Ksenya.”

Ksenya, derived from the Greek word xenia, which meant stranger. My eyes had perked when I’d found it on a list of Russian names. I was a stranger now, a stranger to Joaquín, to Grant, to myself.

Grant had been right. Mia couldn’t help Joaquín. Mia couldn’t break the SEAL code. Mia couldn’t get anyone to talk.

But none of those SEALs stood a chance of resisting Ksenya.